Fireflies - 1
Friday, May 22, 2009
It was the storm of the decade. The sky almost as dark as the devil’s soul, lit up every few seconds in brutal shapes made by the deafening, blinding lightening. It wasn’t even 3 o’clock in the evening but the sun was totally drowned and the very air looked inky. The desert lived up to its name. Rushing water washing away the sandy soil, leaving the proud rocks naked and vulnerable. It could have been a scene from before the start of the civilization if it wasn’t for the long silky stretch of asphalt. The rain lashed down as if trying to annihilate and destroy its ugly artificial presence with nature’s fury.
There was not a soul in sight, just a dark hued Mercedes looking radiant instead of blending in the grayscale picture. The man sitting behind the steering wheel had absolutely no expression on his face. His eyes were wide open, vacant. He had loosened the black tie and opened the top two buttons of his pristine white shirt. The ancient scar around his neck looking almost beautiful.
He would have been safe even in the frightening storm, but he had the door open with his right leg out of the car, resting on the road, mocking and teasing death. The flat desert provided a breathtaking view. If he could take his eyes off the non-existing face, he would have been able to see the earth being hammered by Thor himself. His breathing was shallow, labored - his heartbeats louder than the thunders. There was a time when he would have enjoyed the madness around him, but right now, nothing mattered. He could feel the life draining from his soul, but death was far away..... there was no salvation for him...
----- to be continued ----
My Friend John (Quackster) wrote an amazing poem based on this chapter. Have a look. Click Here
There was not a soul in sight, just a dark hued Mercedes looking radiant instead of blending in the grayscale picture. The man sitting behind the steering wheel had absolutely no expression on his face. His eyes were wide open, vacant. He had loosened the black tie and opened the top two buttons of his pristine white shirt. The ancient scar around his neck looking almost beautiful.
He would have been safe even in the frightening storm, but he had the door open with his right leg out of the car, resting on the road, mocking and teasing death. The flat desert provided a breathtaking view. If he could take his eyes off the non-existing face, he would have been able to see the earth being hammered by Thor himself. His breathing was shallow, labored - his heartbeats louder than the thunders. There was a time when he would have enjoyed the madness around him, but right now, nothing mattered. He could feel the life draining from his soul, but death was far away..... there was no salvation for him...
----- to be continued ----
My Friend John (Quackster) wrote an amazing poem based on this chapter. Have a look. Click Here
© 2009 by Chhaya. All rights reserved
PS: the image is googled
This is the first draft of the first few paragraphs of my new story. Feel free to comment. Suggest a name for the story if you can.. I will be taking it off to another blog and placing a direct link on this one. Seems like a good idea?
